


Tonight

by merr



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grieving, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merr/pseuds/merr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv6dMFF_yts">Fun. - "We Are Young"</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight

Murphy shook his head once, slammed down the empty shot glass and grit his teeth. He smeared a drop of whiskey across the polished wood top of the bar with his thumb, thinking about the two girls he'd been staying with and the "friend" they'd brought along for the night. All three of them had tried to get him to tag along into the backroom, flashing a tiny bag of white powder, but he'd just raised his shot glass in reply. _There's no way in hell I'm gonna get that sloppy if Connor's_ _here..._

Murphy glanced up, across the square pit the bartenders were scurrying around, to let his eyes flick over Connor for the briefest of moments. He let out a huffed curse of awe. He hadn't laid eyes on his twin in almost two weeks -- a dozen long, miserable days of sleeping on other people's couches, smoking on other people's balconies, being surrounded constantly by other people's scents and sounds and _God I've missed ye, Con..._

As he signaled for another shot, Murph's eyebrows drew together watching the man sitting next to Connor reach over and trace his brother's jaw. The barlights reflected in the sunglasses hanging from the redhead's t-shirt and Murphy's lip curled; seeing the stranger trace the scar that had started all of this mess threw him into a tailspin. He slammed back the shot and felt the liquor hit his stomach at the same moment the vivid memory washed ashore in his mind.

"Ye're not the only one who lost a friend, Murph! Drinkin' yerself to death isn't gonna bring him back!"

Murphy shook off Connor's hand, his eyes squinting small against tears, against the helpless spiral he felt himself slipping into as he rounded on his twin, "You shut yer fucking mouth! Just shut the fuck up, Connor!"

Murphy stumbled back as his brother stepped forward, trying to tug the booze away, "Dammit Murph! Gimme th' damn bottle!"

The drunken man shoved his brother away, down -- and the gentler twin tripped back over the corner of his campbed. Connor twisted to the side, trying to catch himself but his hand slipped on the tile of the open shower and his jaw slammed down hard, the wet crack making both of them wince. A second of stillness and silence later, Connor's voice wound up from the floor, only slightly muffled behind his hands: "...If ye poison yerself, it's just me all alone in th' world, Murph, and I... I don't want ta live like tha'."

Murphy blinked, his heart slamming in his chest double time. Connor got mushy on him sometimes, sure -- usually after Murph'd just fucked him halfway to Avalon and back -- but he never talked like this when he was angry. It spooked Murphy something fierce and he took a step forward, "Ye... ye alright Connor?"

A string of spluttering, wet-sounding curses served as his twin's reply and Murphy crouched down to pull Connor's hands away, scowling at the ruby red smeared everywhere and still flowing. He grabbed a discarded t-shirt and swiped it over Connor's face, holding it tightly against the wound as he stared into pain-sharpened blue irises, muttering, "Dammit Con, what the fuck is wrong with ye? Be more careful, ye fuckin -- hey!"

Connor shoved him back, caught him in the face with a right hook just before launching to his own two feet, face flushing even redder with anger, "Dammit Murph! Why won't you just... just let me in, yeah? I'm on your side, ye fuckin' idiot! We could fight this together, if ye'd just... just..."

"Jus' what?! Lay around mopin' and cryin' and crawlin' into your arms like a goddamn baby every time I miss Roc?" Now that Connor was up and hollering, Murph felt himself slip twice as hard into anger; he was terrified he'd really hurt his brother and now that they were back to arguing like normal, his drunken mind took refuge in it.

Connor's eyes shone with frustrated tears and he kicked the bottle of booze, spilling it everywhere and yelling over the shatter as it hit the wall, "And why the fuck not, eh?! Why can't you jus' -- ouf!"

Murphy tackled his brother down onto the camp bed, shoving at his shoulders, pulling at his clothes, trying to resist the urge to punch him in his already bleeding face, "Ye fuckin' -- don't waste -- ow!"

Connor was pushing back, punching his brother in the stomach and side, teeth bared as they scrapped, slipping from the single bed down onto the pile of clothes and boots, "We were always in this together, when did ye stop trustin' me?!"

Murphy scrabbled until he had a hold of his twin's wrists and then held them tight, staring down at him, the booze making the room spin beneath him, "I never... never stopped trustin' ye, Con." He leaned down hard, sealed his mouth over Connor's; his tongue flicked out and the tang of blood seared all the way down to his core.

At first, Connor growled, tugging to free his wrists... but he gave a soft groan as Murphy let his wrists go to touch his face lightly, deepening the kiss until Con could taste the whiskey as though he'd been chugging straight from the bottle himself.

He knew Murphy never apologized in words, could never find the right words to use and so used the language of his hands and body instead. Even as Connor gasped and writhed, voice cracking as he called out his twin's name, tears slipped down his temples to pool in his ears. _I always let you in, Murph, always, always; just let me in, once, now, more than ever, we need each other more'n ever..._

Things hadn't been the same since that fight. Sure, the eye of the storm came and went, but the periods of peace got smaller and further between. Connor started started making other friends; Murphy found himself falling asleep in the apartment alone more nights than not. He'd lay in the dark, staring at his rosary hanging next to the door, determined that it split into two sometimes because he was too trashed to see right, not because his eyes were burning and blurred.

Now, glancing across the bar at his twin again, he saw that the characteristic rosary wasn't peeking up from his collar; that bothered Murphy more than he'd like to admit.

His mouth turned down into a characteristic scowl that froze into place when Connor's eyes pinned him, locking him in place first with curiosity, then recognition... then something Murphy wanted desperately to believe looked an awful lot more like longing than disappointment.

Then Sunglasses was looking at him too and Murph felt his heart tighten like a vice as Connor turned his face away, said something that made Sunglasses nod over the bar, gesture with his hand. _Is he telling Con to...? Oh fuck, here they come._

As the two of them walked toward Murphy, he lit a cigarette, stuffing the lighter in his pocket as he stood up and headed toward the back of the bar.

"Hey, MacManus! Hey, hold on!"

Murphy ignored the stranger as easily as he dodged the Merry Crackheads Three that grabbed for the lapels of his black wool coat as he slipped past them and out the door. As it slammed shut after him, he bit down on the filter of his cigarette, pushed his hands into his pockets and stepped quick around the corner and into a small gap between the bar and the laundry next door. It wasn't small enough to be considered a rathole but also wasn't quite big enough to pass as an alley. He and Con had shared plenty of cigarettes and kisses there, wedged in the dark, drunk and grinning and blinking against one another's frozen breath in the middle of winter.

Murphy snaked a hand out, breathed deep through the cotton filter and listened as hard as he could. When the door opened mere moments later, his eyes narrowed. _Dammit, they followed._ He wedged back a bit further into the shadow of the cranny, cupping a hand over his smoke. _Don't matter though; they're so cranked up an' drunk, they'll never find--_

"Murph? You, uh, you out here?"

The drunken man leaned one shoulder heavily on the rough brick surface -- Fuck, of course it had to be Connor. He flicked his cigarette butt down, crushing it out before tugging another slim white distraction from his breast pocket. He'd been trying to follow his twin's request for space and, while they were apart, all Murph could think of was being around Connor again. Now that they were feet apart, terror gripped him.

He stepped back around the corner anyway, taking his first puff and flicking his eyes over Connor. _Never could say no to ye anyway._  

The lighter haired twin's eyes softened when he saw Murph step back toward the slice of yellow light he and his friend were standing in.

Sunglasses smiled at Murph, nudging Connor's shoulder and nodding before putting his cellphone to his ear, asking someone to repeat directions. Connor stood silent, one hand in his pocket while his other drew a cigarette out and lit it. The brothers stood there for a handful of impossibly long seconds, exact mirrors of one another's posture, until Murphy couldn't take it anymore.

"How've you been?" Murphy asked in Russian, eyes flicking toward Sunglasses as he laughed at whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying, slipping further back inside the bar.

"Keeping my head up," Connor replied in English. "What about you?"

Murphy ignored the question and Con's switch to English, instead hissing in Italian, "Who's this guy?"

Connor dragged off his smoke, squared his shoulders a bit and lifted his chin, "A friend."

Murphy tried to bite his tongue, he really did, but it came out before he could stop himself, "He already move inta my bed, this friend'a yers?"

Sunglasses closed the door gently behind himself and Connor's eyes closed off at the same moment, going flat even as his jaw muscles jumped. He stared hard at his twin and, for the second time that night, Murphy caved first.

"I... I'm sorry, Con. That was a shit thing fer me ta say." Murph paused, glanced at his brother, then his burning cigarette, then about three inches to the left of Connor's eyes. "I said a lot of shit things, t'be honest. 'S probably later than late 'n all but--"

Connor was listening -- maybe wishing Murph could look him in the face while apologizing but deciding to take what he could get -- until the three buzzing cokeheads poured out the back door, one of the women whining out Murphy's name and asking which bed he was gonna stay in that night. Murphy shook his head, snapping at her that he was busy, trying to slap her hands away from his elbow but by the time he tried to turn back to Connor, his twin had slipped back inside.

Murphy pushed through the three stooges for the second time that night, slamming the door behind him as he walked pointedly toward Connor. His heart slammed in his chest like a hammer, each blow making his ribs ache deeper and wider. _I can't let him walk outta here without... without at least trying._

He grabbed his twin's wrist as the tousle-haired man reached back to fish his wallet out. Murphy spun him, had him by the upper arms in a heartbeat, and planted his flushed forehead against Connor's. He stared into his eyes hard, looking for words; the the bar was packed, dim, loud -- Connor almost felt his brother's words more than he could hear them: "M'sorry, Con! I'm... sorry. I really am an' I want you back! I want m'brother back! ...Want you, however ye want, whatever ye wan' us to be, jus... jus' lemme come home?"

Connor's eyes were wide enough they might have fallen out of his head if Murphy hadn't been first shoved forward and then jerked away by the back of his coat. Connor's back hit the rail as he tried to come down to earth -- never in a million years did he think his brother would apologize. In public. Twice. His buddy'd finally talked him into trying to get a hold of Murph and figure things out but he'd never even dared to hope it would work out like this. He damn sure wasn't prepared with what to do now that it had.

It wasn't until Murph stumbled down to the floor of the bar from a punch in the face that Con shook his head and swooped into his brother's rescue by tugging off first one and then the other frenzied female. They were screaming about him never putting out, defending each other from imagined insults and by the time Sunglasses pushed them both away from the twins, they were damn near frothing at the mouth.

Connor tugged his twin to his feet, wincing at a small cut on his stubbled chin, "Shit, Murph, yer bleeding all over tha place... Let's go, yeah?"

Murphy looked up at his brother, nodding dumbly before his eyes flicked to Sunglasses. Con glanced over too and shook his head, a little grin on his face as he guided the both of them to the front door, "He manages the kitchen here, said he'd seen ya'round. Just a friend, like I said."

As they passed out into the cooler night, Murphy's shoulders relaxed slightly. He swerved fairly well on his own for a few blocks but damn near crashed into Connor when he misstepped down a curb trying to kick a rolling soda can.

Connor threw an arm around Murphy's waist without missing a step and kept moving down the sidewalk as he quipped, "Yer so quiet, either yer more wasted than I thought or yer still tryin' to get rid of tha' jealousy..."

Murphy's face flushed as he snaked an arm over his twin's shoulders and mumbled, "Ye great ass, y'knew I'd go all green eyed... And anyway, s'both."

Connor's laughter was unexpected, loud, warm... and gusted the loneliness clear out of Murphy's mind. Without thinking, he reached his other hand up, touching the edge of his twin's lips. _Sweet Christ, I never knew how much I could miss a sound..._

When Connor looked down at him, still grinning but curious about the touch, Murphy flushed deeper red and moved to pause and stand on his own, "Need a smoke, tryin' ta get yours."

Connor raised an eyebrow, deciding to let his brother take a short break as their building was at the end of the block anyway. He stepped forward, just a bit, and fished two cigarettes out of Murphy's front pocket, slipping them both between his own lips to light them, "Ah, yah, the smoke I dinnit even have in my mouth, right?"

Murphy reached out for the cigarette, eyes flicking down the street then up to Con's face, resting on his twin, "Tha's the one exactly." As he took a step toward their building, his hips canted to the left a little more wildly than he'd intended but Connor was there, his side firm against Murph's as he held his twin up.

They fell into step as easy as anything and halfway down the block, Murph couldn't help but grin as he muttered to Connor: "Mah ears are ringin' something fierce."

Connor snorted, "Yeah? 'S probably yer last few braincells, clingin' ta dear life."

Murphy snorted back, reaching up and over to box his twin in the ear playfully before murmuring so quietly Connor might not have caught it if he didn't know his brother as well as he did: "Nah, 's the angels, comin' ta give ye sainthood fer puttin' up with me."

Connor's heart swelled so full it ached. It was the sweetest thing his brother'd ever said to him and he wanted to say so -- but he knew it'd likely spook Murphy into defensive assholery, though, so he bit his lip instead and cleared his throat before replying amicably, "Hallelujah 'n amen ta that. Now, are ye ready to get up the stairs, ya drunken bastard?"

Murphy leaned into his twin, squinting up at the shadowy stairwell. Home was so much closer than he remembered and he felt so much drunker now than before. ...In fact, he felt almost everything except ready for the trek, concrete and proverbial, ahead of him, but he gripped Connor's waist a little tighter, swallowed hard and nodded: "If ye keep a'holda me, I think I c'n make it."

Connor, who'd gotten pretty damn good at hearing the things Murph couldn't quite say, smiled in the dark as he squeezed his brother back; the chorus of clumsy, shuffling steps and huffed curses echoed through the abandoned complex like a choir's last note washing over a humbled crowd.


End file.
